To Counter the Shuntensatsu
by LinBean
Summary: Souijiro learns that even the most infallible attacks have a weakness...as one woman’s smile dissolves his tenken into an emotion he can finally understand.


**A/N:** Hmmm…first attempt at a RK fic…don't know how it will all pan out.

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**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

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**To Counter the Shuntensatsu**

**Ch 1 **

Silence became my only benefactor; it was my most prized possession as a rurouni. I quickly learned how to tune everything out from people, carriages, crying babies—whenever I perchance found myself in a bustling town. With my eyes closed and ears shut, I found the world even more colorful. Strange—I know. But it's true. Maybe it's only in my imagination, but I have trained myself to remove the hum of a stream while blindfolded so that I can paint it with creative instinct alone. I rarely use my eyes or ears for my artwork. I feel it from somewhere within that exists separate from the five senses I was born with. This is why I took up painting. Well—not the only reason. I needed to make money if I wanted to live the life of a wanderer. But, more importantly, I enjoyed the color of silence.

"Young man!" A woman's voice summoned from behind me. I stopped my retreat and closed my eyes as she approached. My view was still turned from her, but I could distinguish the pace of her diminutive steps, though rather slow when considering my personal measurement of speed. I, also, recognized that her mouth was gaping, while her arms flailed helplessly at her sides like discarded ribbons. "Young man," she yelled again with more urgency this time. In fact, the only detail that I could not read, regardless of whether I faced her or not, was the enigmatic sensation she felt in her heart. I had never been so perceptive at that—interpreting emotions.

I turned on my heel to peer at her, a habitual smile resuming my mouth as I spoke. "Is there something else I can do for you, Miss Oatakasu?"

The woman, who had long since been called 'Miss' in the duration of her lifetime, blushed profusely at the word and held up a familiar, lilac pouch. "You forgot your earnings." I studied her face, noticing that the years had been kind to her in her old age. A patchwork of wrinkles, which lingered like baby vines at the corners of her eyes, actually brightened her rich features, and the folds of skin lowering over her obi were merciful enough to compliment her plump figure. I could see the person buried beneath her wilting form, and in my hindsight I knew she was once beautiful.

"Well thank you very much. You are kind to run all the way out here when I was so careless to leave it in the first place." I relieved her of the change purse, and secured it in the layers of my yukata. Again, my eyes lingered on her waxen features. I noticed an embedded sorrow that clung about the dark hollows entrenching her eyes. _She is a widow_, I realized. The prevalent loneliness she projected was as thick as the smoggy heat clinging to my skin. Bowing to her in thanks, I was about to take my leave once more when she spoke again.

"Young man." She hesitated. "Am I wrong to guess that you do not have a place to stay for the night?" She blushed again, this time at her boldness. "Uh—the money that you carry is not very much. Let me offer you a room at least for tonight."

I considered her request wordlessly. It had been a long time since I was able to procure a soft futon to sleep on. In fact, I couldn't recall the last time I slept indoors. It was summer again, and the weather was just warm enough to sleep outside comfortably, except for the occasional, sodden downpour. My smile deepened. "Oh—but I couldn't do that. You are much too courteous."

"But I insist. A young and naïve boy should not be forced to fend for himself." Her arms opened in a welcoming gesture. "Just tonight. You can paint me another picture if you feel uncomfortable with me not charging you."

My hands tightened instinctively around my canvas and paintbrushes as I gazed at her curiously. _Young and naïve?_ Those words had not equated to my attributes for some time now. At least not since forgotten days of the feeble boy from my childhood—beaten and broken under manual labor and a whip. This was—kindness. An act of giving for the sake of nothing. After three years of wandering, I still did not understand.

"Ma'am? If you don't mind, may I ask where I am?" I inquired politely. I had only just entered the town that morning, and Mrs. Oatakasu was the first person I met. She surprised me with her insistent request for me to paint her a picture…of her cat.

She looked at me strangely for a second. "My boy, are you ill? Why you're in Tokyo of course."

_Tokyo_ I distinctly recalled that a certain ex samurai had resided in Tokyo once. Mr. Himura. There was a flash of red that distorted my vision, a color that burned indefinitely into my soul. Red—the shade of Mr. Shishio's inferno, forever smoldering my philosophy on life; and red—the hue that consumed the face of Mr. Himura in every graceful leap as he skillfully dodged my attacks, a blur of that crimson hair hovering over piercing eyes. My head lifted suddenly to catch the old woman gazing at me tentatively. It occurred to me that I still had not given her an answer. My lips curled into a smile. "Perhaps—but just for one night."

She appeared to be pleased, but I was uncertain as to why, for I did not understand the loneliness she carried so heavily on her shoulders. "May I ask your name, young man?" Her inquisitive, old eyes were upon me as if trying to read me as well as I did her. Most people looked at me that way, but I have found that I am mystery even to myself.

"Soujiro Seta, Ma'am. And thank you for your…kindness."

-

The candle lighting Mrs. Oatakasu's kitchen served also to illuminate my canvas that evening. I sat quietly on a rock, peering up at the moonless sky as if it held answers that my heart had yet to unearth. The paintbrush in my hand was the closest thing that had come to a sword since the day I left Mr. Shishio and what was left of the Juppongatana.

I didn't always use a blindfold to paint—only for my private pieces. Mrs. Oatakasu's cat had been a noisy and restless animal that would not stay put. For him, I used every God-given sense just to get the oils on the canvas.

My brush fell across the rough surface, and I watched it solemnly as it dried in the humid air. _Red._ The color burned my eyes and they watered with something that brought more irritation than it did curiosity. Sometimes, every so often, I felt an obscure emotion clamp down on my lungs and my heart—as if someone held the organ in his hand, strangling the life out of me. It made my eyes water although I was not permitting the action. I brushed my cheek and felt the familiar accumulation of liquid that burdened my sub-conscious anonymously.

"Excuse me, sir?"

_Sir?_ My thoughts faded, and I looked up. A young woman stood in front of me. Her brown hair was fastened in a tight bun behind her head and several stray hairs hung loosely around her ears. Her eyes bent into an inviting smile as she offered me the teacup in her hand. I stared at her dispassionately, waiting for her to speak.

"Sir, I just stopped by ta speak ta Mrs. Oatakasu for a minute or two. We were havin' a bit 'a tea and she suggested I bring ya a cup in case ya'll were parched from all the heat." Her eyes slipped from the closed smile and opened slowly.

There was that clamping feeling again. Her eyes were an ordinary brown; the generic shade that I needn't mix with another color to form a uniquely refining hue. But they were filled with a different _color_, identifiable only when I prompted my memories back to the day of my last battle with Mr. Himura. _She knows how to feel._ I realized.

"Uh, Sir? Why ya just sittin' there grinnin' like that? Don't ya'll want the tea? Or should I just—"

"Thank you," I stood, cutting her off. I wasn't much taller, but for some reason she stepped back when I moved toward her. Perhaps she was shocked at the speed of my approach, or even the cursed grin I was forced to claim as a preliminary means of communication. As I took the tea, her hands curled into each other at her chest. They were pale, and contrasted against the tinge that crept into her cheeks. It was such a pretty color. Unlike the pink I was used to painting. I almost conceded to ask the woman if I could paint her then and there, but that would be too forward and I wasn't exactly certain why the urge had seized me so suddenly.

"Yer welcome. Ya'll stayin' here for a couple 'a days then?" If it was possible, her hands became more pallid as she tightened them against her chest.

How bold. My smile fell for a second. I never knew what I planned to do; it was something that I believed would come to me in time—like all the revelations about right and wrong that I sought to comprehend. But I was unaccustomed to people inquiring of my personal affairs and so I answered her by sipping the steaming tea instead. It singed my throat welcomingly. "This is—good. Did you make it yourself?"

She nodded humbly. "Thanks fer the compliment." I noticed her skin redden, a darker shade. For some reason, my heart's pattern quickened. It didn't show though, since plastering a smile was the only detectable change in my behavior.

"Well then, I hope ta see ya again soon. I must be goin', but it was sure nice ta meet ya." She winked kindly and turned to go.

I couldn't explain it, but for some reason I wanted her to stay. "Wait." If only just to study the expressive eyes a little longer.

She glanced back, an evidence of heat coating her face. "Yes? Is there somethin' else I can do for ya?"

It was almost like the searing liquid of the tea was trickling deftly into my body. I felt it's warmth torrent my heart. That emotionless object that had long since provided no other function than to pump blood into my brain. I just—couldn't understand. I bowed to her. "Thank you, Miss. Good evening."

I could only smile at her back while she departed.

-

The restaurant was comfortable enough, though busier than I was used to. It had only been one day since I had accepted the offer to remain at Mrs. Oatakasu's inn, and for some reason I hadn't gotten the itch to leave yet. My hands were clasped neatly on the table in front of me. Mrs. Oatakasu had suggested I treat myself for all the hard work I had done to aid her in house chores. She had pointed with a crooked finger to the restaurant across the street from her little inn, and I took her advice without much thought. The last time I had eaten in a place this nice was probably when I first began my journey. I managed to put aside quite a bit of money while serving Mr. Shishio. But the last of that savings had quickly diminished.

Two children ran by me at that moment, a little girl chasing a slightly older boy. The little girl's sandal hit the floor the wrong way and she toppled in her efforts to catch up with the other child.

Reflexively, I moved forward with the speed of my shukuchi and caught her before she fell on her knee. She looked up startled, water droplets appearing simultaneously in each eye as she realized what had happened. I heard the makings of a wail ready to soar from her mouth, and delivered a calming smile, an action that drained her forlorn expression immediately. She returned the grin, childishly and her arms flew around my neck. "Thank you," she squealed.

I am not a weakling by any means, but it was such a sudden gesture and the shock of contact from another person caught me off guard. I fell backwards with the child still clinging to me. I wanted to panic—ask someone to remove me from her clutches, but a voice soothed my paranoia instead.

"Well I didn't expect ta see ya'll again so soon."

My body arched in an automatic jolt when I heard her voice. She was standing above me as if she had remained in that position for awhile. But how? It was impossible for anyone to sneak up on me, even with a child acting as an extra appendage. I may have given up the sword, but my warrior's instinct was still as keen as it had been three years ago. Her eyes had resumed that closed smile again, but I could tell she was amused.

I hurriedly pried the girl's arms from me and settled back into my chair. Fumbling with the menu that had been provided, I pointed to the first thing I noticed. She nodded, and the light from her eyes spilled as they opened. Seeing them now, they held the same dull color as before, only the life inside of them brought forth a spectrum I could not have painted even if I planned to develop my skills to a professional level. Her back was to me now, and as I watched her depart I was suddenly relieved that she was nothing like the very few women I had known in my life. Even Miss Yumi, who was perhaps the gentlest of all. Purity can never be ignited again once the flame has been snuffed out. Purity was what I had given up the moment my wakizashi tasted human flesh.

The food was delicious. I don't think I was ever so ravenous as I downed the meal. When I finished, I was surprised to find myself feeling disappointment when another girl, much younger, came by to clear my plate and refill my tea. She had similar brown hair that fell to her chin, but her smile was more timid.

So this is what Mr. Himura had tried to reveal to me all those years ago. People working for the purpose of a happy future. Living their day-to-day lives harmoniously so that the creation of a better world without violence can be made possible.

I sat back in my chair, the sharp pang biting my insides again. Mr. Shishio had been driven by evil. When I was that young, there was little for me to consider about evil and good, right and wrong. I only understood one law of nature and that had been…_if you're strong you live; if you're weak you die._ There was no room for any other philosophy to prompt my actions. I did as I was told. I became dependable in strength, but as I did, my heart and mind deteriorated until my emotions were subdued, completely incapacitated by a seal that haunts me even now. Admittedly, I would say that I have lost the numbness that came with being the second strongest member of the Juppongattana, but I am unsure if I will ever be able to experience emotions as most do—normal people who had not slain their own family at the age of seven.

She was nearby. I could smell her, although I hadn't even detected a scent on her before that moment. _Behind me._ My guard climbed until my training forced me to react. A swift hand shot out and clamped roughly around her wrist. I turned to face her, but the look of horror in her eyes startled me so that I loosened my hold. Still, I was unable to let go.

"Ch—cherry blossom," she stuttered pointing with her other hand on my shoulder. Looking now, indeed there was a petal that had come to rest on my back. She had been trying to brush it off. _What is wrong with me? _There was no need to be so protective of myself. After all, she was harmless. _Right?_ But, for some reason this woman inspired all kinds of foreign conduct. For instance, my heart—why was it pounding so irregularly in my chest? It had never done that, even in battle. My hand moved from hers and I felt my skin grow hot. Perhaps I was coming down with something.

She moved in front of me. "I'm glad ya'll enjoyed yer meal." The smile was back. Could it be that this woman smiled even more than I did? "Our beef pot is, in fact, the most popular dish here at the Akabeko."

I couldn't smile. There was a concentrated expression on my face filled with uncertainty. Like the time I tried to read the battousai. I didn't recognize what I was feeling at that moment. Confusion? Irritation? Or was it really true that I was coming down with something?

She peered at me with some measure of puzzlement. "Are ya'll not feelin' well?" Her white hand reached out toward my forehead and I leaned away as my heart began to race. She blanched apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean ta be so forward. I just—well are ya certain yer okay, sir?"

My lips flickered upward as I tried to control all of the malfunctioning that took place inside where her eyes could not see. "What is your name, Miss?"

"Well—that would be Tae, uh—sir."

_Tae._ I wanted to try the name out on my tongue, but she was wiping the table now and the tip of her thumb had brushed the sleeve of my yukata. I felt disappointment for the second time that day when I realized her skin could have very well grazed my own if the fabric had been arranged only a mere three centimeters to the left.

"Yer not keepin' yer name a secret, now are ya?" Her laugh trickled into the air.

"Uh—of course not, Miss…Tae. It's Sojiro…Seta." I took the bill from the edge of the table so that I could avoid the blinding light of her eyes.

She laughed again as I reached for my change purse. "Well—ain't that splendid. I was assumin' ya ta be a wanderer and all. But I have ta admit, I didn't really expect ya ta pay." I looked toward her just in time to see her wink.

My eyebrow shot up. "You mean there are people that eat and do not pay?" I asked honestly.

She nodded, amused. But then a frown bent her mouth unpleasantly. "One I can think of in particular." Her voice had lost it's saccharine quality.

I felt myself smiling for a different reason, something not out of habit. It was almost like there was a string attached to my mouth from somewhere inside of my body, forcing the action.

"Ya sure do smile a whole lot." She commented.

"Well—I suppose I could say the same for you."

She blushed. "And—um—ya'll look pretty young ta be a rurouni. How old are ya anyway?"

I hesitated. "Nineteen."

Her face turned even more crimson with, what seemed to be, embarrassment. "I was expectin' ya ta say fifteen or—uh—sixteen. I apologize fer being so impulsive."

My hands waved in front of me as I shook my head. "No need for concern. You must be eighteen, right?" I said confidently.

She bit her lip. "Is it really so obvious?"

Every gesture, every line, every fumbling of pale hands at her chest, the squinting eyes, her rosy voice and confident steps—it all pointed to her age. This was another gift I had acquired under the days of Mr. Shishio's reign. I learned to read the physical attributes of people almost as well as Mr. Himura could comprehend emotions. "It was just a guess," I smiled modestly.

-

Outside of the Akabeko, a redheaded man stood in the company of two people. The setting sun burned on one side of his face where there was the well-structured mark of a cross-shaped scar. A woman with expressive, blue eyes stood to his left and a young man who scowled fiercely was situated to his right. They stopped in front of the restaurant. The boy appeared to be complaining of hunger while the woman's eyes narrowed into slits at his whining. She smacked the top of his head, and in the late afternoon heat, her voice rose. "Yahiko! When are you ever going to grow up and stop thinking about yourself for once? I don't have enough money so the next time you want a beef pot for dinner—you cover the expenses."

"Hey!" The boy yelled sulkily as he followed them home.

No more than a second later, a young man with a faint smile stepped out of the Akabeko into the sunlight. Shielding his eyes, he headed in the opposite direction, tuning out the cries of a woman and a boy who had engaged in a series of violent retorts.

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**A/N:** There was a change in narration at the end for anyone who might have been confused. I was trying to establish a more objective POV. SORRY! 

Soujiro has always been my favorite character, aside from Kenshin of course. Trying to resolve his tenken creates an abundance of possibilities for fanfiction writers. Love being the most common. Hope there isn't too much ooc here, and if I am inaccurate about any of the details, please feel free to flame away…it's been a while since I have seen the series.

THIS WASN'T INTENDED TO BE A ONE-SHOT! Should I continue or leave as is?

Anyhow…if you are still reading, you might as well review. (wink)


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